Nation Under Siege
by PoliceCommander
Summary: A modern appropriation of Fire Emblem: Awakening; Chrom is the younger brother of the Sovereign of the Free City-State of Ylisse. After an unfortunate encounter with an amnesiac girl, Chrom is faced with an onslaught of repercussions from the anarchy in Plegia, and must fight to secure Ylisse's safety. Various pairings (open to suggestions); Chrom x F!Robin Main.
1. Prologue: The Verge of History

Prologue

The Verge of History

* * *

Scanning the ocean's expanse, it would be near impossible for one not to settle on this quaint little mass of land, where rolling knolls and flower-laced planes merge into rich farmlands and quiet hamlets, which again seem to merge seamlessly into the hustle and bustle of the capital city.

Cobblestone roads curve over the contours of the land, dipping down into shallow valleys and stretching up mountains, flanked by old-style architecture. Winding avenues spiral into Roman plazas, where fountains portray forsaken war heroes in the midst of clear-watered reservoirs, the bottoms of which are gilded with the glimmer of wishes.

In the centre, tradition gives way to soaring skyscrapers, shimmering office complexes, and garden courtyards sanctioned by Flora herself.

Men and women scurry to and fro, clutching briefcases and leaning their heads to fasten mobile phones to their shoulders. Restaurants open for the day, wafting the scent of freshly baked bread and the heat of word-famous cuisine.

This is the city-state of Ylisse, where we lay our scene.

A blue BMW careens down a hollow street lined with sandstone terraces, creaking as it rocks from side to side, its wheels snaking across the stones so violently that they scream.

The driver stifles a cough at the base of his throat. Cold sweat glistens on his forehead. His eyes are set only on the road ahead, intently, forcefully.

The tall man in the passenger's seat bites his lip. His eyes, in stark contrast, tear away from the windscreen sporadically to throw looks of concern at the driver.

"Sir, if you'd like me to drive-"

"Not now, Frederick, I'm trying to concentrate," says the driver, clearing his throat. His shoulders are hunched and his white-knuckled hands grip the steering wheel in a deadly grasp. He wears a creased blue suit with white-trim collar and lapels, a beige waistcoat, and a white, collared shirt with a navy tie. What might look classy or chic on a more confident man he makes awkward and untidy in his current position as he swerves across the road and feels around nervously for the clutch.

In the back seat, his blonde-haired, bright-eyed younger sister prepares her last will and testimony- or she may as well be, given the sheer look of terror on her face.

She leans over slightly. "H-he has to learn sometime, right, Frederick?"

Frederick, who fiddles with the visor of his light blue uniform cap, nods after a moment's hesitation.

"I suppose your sister did want you to learn to get around on your own. I only wish you'd be more careful, sir. These streets are far too narrow," Chrom brakes suddenly and Frederick braces himself on the dash board. He collects himself and clears his throat, "Perhaps we should retreat to a main road or you could practice parking somewhere around here."

"A main road? With bunches of people? Are you kidding? He'll kill someone!" Lissa howls from the backseat, slumping back in resignation. "Do you know how mad Emm would get?"

"It's true. All your actions reflect on Lady Emmeryn, whether they are poor or admirable," Frederick agrees.

"I know, Frederick. I'll exercise caution," Chrom sighs. He leans back against his seat and reaches for the gear shift. "I just want to make a good impression on the ambassador. If the situation in Plegia gets any worse, Emm'll have a heart attack. One rebellion after another, one coup d'état after the next. I'm sure she's worried about the repercussions over here."

"The pressure Lady Emmeryn must feel is immense, surely, but your sister is not only kind and benevolent, but also very competent in her own right," Frederick assures, a brief yet hearty smile contorting his otherwise downturned lips.

"I heard a group of Plegian bandits were hijacking cars on the bridge on the weekend," Lissa chimes. "They're strange over there."

"At this rate, we may have to close the bridge completely," Chrom mutters.

"At your orders, sir. My men will have it done," says Frederick.

The car screeches along at its own pace. Chrom breathes out through pursed lips and musters a smile.

"I think I'm getting the hang of it," he laughs. He turns halfway to face Lissa over his shoulder, "Emm has nothing to worry about, Lissa, I won't disappoint-"

"_Chrom! The road!_" Lissa yells.

Chrom's foot instinctively slams down on the breaks. The car screeches and scrapes across the stones and it jolts jaggedly to a stop, but not before the bonnet strikes the form of a man or woman, and they swing across the hood before tumbling before the vehicle onto the road.

"Oh my God," Lissa's mouth hangs open. Her hand slaps to it, trembling fingers hovering below her septum. "Did you just-"

Chrom is frozen. His face contorts with a mixture of confusion, disbelief and fear. His hands are glued to the wheel.

Frederick mentally prepares an official police statement, straight-faced yet terribly pale and clammy, his pallid lips pulled into a tight, straight line. _The pedestrian jumped out at the car. It appeared as if they held a death wish. Mr. Chrom, the driver- No, __I,__ the driver, swerved to avoid impact but-_

"Everyone out of the car," Chrom orders. "Maybe they're okay."

"Yes, sir," Frederick snaps out of his fantasy, nods firmly once, and opens his door.

Lissa is leaning forward over the centre console, resting her elbows on it as her hands clasp the bottom half of her face. "Chrom…"

Chrom opens his door, then looks at her sternly. "Lissa, out."

Hesitantly and mechanically, she nods and slides out the side door.

The hood of the car is dented in the middle. One might call it a people-shaped imprint.

At the base of the front wheels lies a human body, slumped on its side. Beneath it, a shallow and already-drying pool of blood. The sun beats down on the pedestrian, their black and maroon-trim coat splayed out on the ground. A hood obscures their downturned face.

Chrom rushes around and kneels down beside them.

Frederick stands with his hands clasped behind his back, tapping his foot on the cobblestones tentatively. "Sir, would you permit me to take a look?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Frederick. Call an ambulance, quickly."

"I-I don't have a mobile phone, sir. Nor do I have my radio on me."

Lissa groans at the base of her throat, digs her hand into the pocket of her summer dress and throws him a rectangular smartphone. "Quickly, Frederick!" she urges. He fumbles with the keypad and hurriedly makes an emergency call. "What kind of police chief doesn't own a phone?" she huffs, though her annoyance is short-lived as she spots the body of the pedestrian.

Lissa comes to kneel beside Chrom. She looks at him with a furrowed brow. "We have to do something," she insists forcefully.

"What do you propose we do? What if they're-"

"I don't know, but…"

The huddled, faceless body lets out a pained groan and stirs.

Chrom lets out a sigh of pent-up relief and wipes the sweat off his brow.

"Hey there, can you hear me? You're going to be okay. Lissa, can you turn them over?"

Lissa offers soothing words and hushes as she slowly takes the pedestrian by the back and turns them over. Their hood slips down their face, revealing that of a young, fair woman. Her cheek is smattered with blood and grit, her brows knit in pain and her glossy lips curled into a subtle snarl.

"I-I," the mystery woman begins to choke out, but Lissa hushes her quickly.

"Don't speak," she says. "An ambulance is on its way. You're going to be fine."

Chrom cautiously placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. "You'll be fine," he repeats. "Don't fret, friend."

* * *

Ylisse State Memorial Hospital.

The hallways reek of disinfectant, yet hold that distinct flavour of illness that permeates the building. Soap and hand sanitiser dispensers line either side of the wall, unused yet insistent. Chrom, and Lissa sit in silence on a string of chairs opposite a door, the blinds on the window next to which are drawn closed. Guilt pervades the immediate area.

A little way down the hallway, in front of the waiting room and secretary's desk, Frederick is speaking with a pair of officers.

His hands, as always, are intertwined at the base of his spine. He stands tall and confident, with a constant air of a no-nonsense, no-backing-down attitude.

After about fifteen minutes, a doctor and a third, plainclothes officer step out of the opposite door and leave it open.

Chrom stands at their arrival, but Lissa is still slumped in her seat.

"Detective, doctor" he says firmly and stretches out his hand to welcome gentlemanly handshakes from both men. "How is she?"

"Physically, she'll be fine," says the doctor. "A pretty bashed up broken arm, a few stitches and two cracked ribs. But she's coping well. She should be ready to be discharged soon."

"She won't be pressing charges," the detective interrupts.

Chrom nods, thankful, and he allows a smile to form on his face.

Lissa heaves a very audible sigh.

"Thank you, detective, I'm grateful-"

"But there is another issue," the doctor interrupts. His voice is deep and gravelly and grave in its tone. "It seems that the girl, Robin, knows nothing but her name…and yours, Mr. Chrom."

"Mine? Well, I suppose she would. She's seen my face from when I went to help her, and I suppose I am something of a public figure," Chrom says, though his humility betrays him and he stumbles over the last two words.

The doctor shakes his head. "She remembers nothing from the accident, nor your face-at least that's what she's told us. It appears to us that she remembers nothing about herself nor where she came from, either. Her mind is a complete blank."

"You didn't happen to find any form of identification that might have fallen out of her pocket or something at the scene?" asks the detective.

Chrom shakes his head.

"Ah. As I suspected, she's probably a vagrant."

"She was in pretty bad shape even prior to the accident, it seems. She was near malnourished; probably hadn't eaten or slept in days. That may have been what resulted in the loss of memory."

"I've heard of that," Lissa chirps brightly. "It's called amnesia, right?"

The doctor smiles heartily and nods.

"Do you think I could speak to her?" Chrom asks the doctor. "If it's all right, I mean. I'd like to apologise. And if it's my name she remembers, perhaps it's my responsibility to set things right."

"By all means, go right ahead," the doctor steps out of the way, gesturing to the door. "But don't think you'll get much out of her. Vagrants tend to have empty heads, and even emptier wallets."

He and the detective share a brief bout of laughter.

Lissa shoots them a glare.

"You shouldn't make fun of the homeless," she grumbles under her breath, then follows Chrom into the room.

* * *

The ceiling light is off. The bright midday sun follows a gentle breeze through the open window beside the bed. The TV nailed to the wall is switched on but muted.

The woman sits up in bed. Her light hair falls just before her shoulders, sweeping across her face as the glow captures the left half of her body.

Her right arm is caught in a white cast and bandages are strewn across her cheek.

When Chrom closes the door behind Lissa, she turns to greet them.

"Hey there," Lissa grins.

"Hello," replies the woman. The whiteboard hanging on the wall above her bed simply reads, _Robin_. She beams softly yet brightly. "Can I help you?"

Chrom takes a seat beside her bed, and Lissa takes the one next to him.

"I think I'm the one who should be saying that, friend. My name is Chrom- I'm the one who did this awful thing to you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me," he murmurs, quietly yet sincerely.

Robin looks at him with an air of bewilderment. She shakes her head rapidly, eyes set on him.

"No, it's quite all right. I suppose it was my fault for wandering around that way, even if I can't quite remember it…Chrom…" she staggers over his name. "It's strange…that name feels so familiar."

"Don't force yourself, now. I've heard you have some sort of amnesia," he hushes.

"Mm. Still…Oh, I haven't even introduced myself. My name is…Robin…I-I'm terribly sorry, Chrom and…"

"Oh, right!" Chrom turns to Lissa. "This delicate one here is my little sister, Lissa."

Lissa huffs and punches her brother in the arm.

He laughs without recoiling.

"I am _not_ delicate!" She reaches over him to shake Robin's good hand. "Nice to meet you, Robin."

Robin smiles. "You, too."

"So, you don't remember anything, then? You don't have a home or somewhere you could go back to once you're discharged?" Chrom brings them from their tangent.

She shakes her head, eyes flicking downwards to trace the gentle creases of the bedsheets.

"The police say they've found no ID, no documents, no personal items of any sort. It's like I've only just been born, or I've spontaneously manifested here out of thin air. It's strange," she rubs her eyes with her good hand.

"I see," Chrom breathes. "Listen, I still feel terrible about this whole affair. And if you've nowhere to stay, I could offer you room and board for a little while, at least until you're all sorted."

Lissa's mouth hangs agape, but after a brief moment of thought, she nods.

"That's actually a good idea, Chrom. It's the least we could do- besides, you seem nice enough, Robin. And having no memories must be pretty tough."

"It has been, so far. Your offer is…amazing, Chrom. You don't owe me anything, I assure you," says Robin.

"I insist. I never meant to cause harm, but I did, and I have to face that. Unless you've been lying and you do have a home to go back to, in which case I'll leave you alone, I must implore you to take me up," Chrom leans forwards slightly. His eyes are set on hers, unwavering, with a sort of conviction that even some champions of war lacked.

Robin heaves a sigh.

Slowly, though, her lips form a wry smile. "Thank you, Chrom. If only for a little while."

* * *

Satisfied with himself, Chrom exits the room. He buttons up the middle of his blazer and strides confidently out into the middle of the hallway.

The detective from before and Frederick, still clad in his light blue formal police uniform, are speaking. When they spot the young man, they both halt and turn to face him.

"Sir, how did it go?" Frederick asks.

Chrom smiles. Lissa trails behind him, kicking at the ground with each bouncy step.

"Excellent, I would say. We've gotten to know each other, and I've invited her to stay with us at the complex until she's well enough to find her way home," he speaks as if it is the most obvious reply in the world, and a look of confusion washes over him when Frederick's reaction is less than expected.

"You've invited her? Did I not hear her spoken of as a vagrant?"

"She has no memories, Frederick. We can't leave her out on her own," Lissa groans.

"She's right. I feel obliged to take her in. If we left her, alone and confused- and beaten up by my own vehicle, might I remind you- what sort of Shepherds would we be for Ylisse?" Chrom is usually not a man of rhetoric, yet the sheer passion in his voice is apparent.

"We would be cautious ones, sir. We don't know if she's lying about her amnesia. She could be a thief sent to spy on the complex. The fact that she knows your name only proves that."

"Calm down, Fretty Frederick-"

"I'm not _fretty_, I'm cautious and I'm wary of strangers."

"Well, I've made up my mind, and I'm going to help her. If you'd like to reprimand me, Frederick, file a formal complaint at my office. I won't sit idly by and watch a young woman suffer because of me. It's not what Emmeryn would do, I'm sure of it."

Frederick remains silent.

He heaves a great sigh, stands up tall, and nods. "Very well, sir. I'll support your decision."


	2. Chapter One: Unwelcome Change

Chapter One

Unwelcome Change

* * *

"It's getting dark already," Lissa notes, resting her cheek against the side window as Chrom's now-dented car bumbles down the avenue at a responsible pace.

Frederick is driving, and Chrom is next to him. The latter's eyes travel to the backseat every minute or so, if only to check up on the young woman staring pensively out her window.

Lissa waves her hand in front of her face.

"Whose window's open? Ptooey! Flies are getting in! Ew! Frederick, close the window!" she cries.

"Oh, look, a bear meat kiosk. How festive," Frederick says with a smile as they pass through a market.

The two continue speaking at their own speed, neither of them listening to the other.

Robin smiles at them, laughing softly.

The sun dips below the last buildings on the horizon, and the city is blanketed by nightfall. The road they travel on is winding but bustling. It spirals through the CBD and tourism sections and filters down into the upper-class residential suburbs.

Frederick is an expert driver. Each turn he takes it carefully deliberated. He hums to himself as the street turns from bustling haven to a quiet- and slightly eerie- cavernous thoroughfare. Streetlights flick on one by one, marking the shoulders of the road.

Lissa turns in place to look at Robin. She tucks her legs under her, and her seatbelt is fastened under her throat. Frederick tut-tuts her, and with a lengthy sigh she reverts to the normal position.

"You'll love our house, Robin. We've got a pool and a stable and-"

"Lissa, that isn't our house. Those are the complex grounds. Our house is actually quite small," Chrom says.

"But it's comfortable. And the whole of the complex might as well be our house. Plus, there are a lot of people who live there, too. And they're all super nice. Like…Sumia runs the stables, Miriel runs the library and Vaike's the moron who…wait, what _does_ Vaike do?"

"I'm sure we can introduce her to everyone when we get there, Lissa," Chrom sighs. "Robin, why don't you get some rest? It'll be a while until we get there."

Robin offers a grateful smile.

"Thank you," she says softly. She snuggles up to the door and rests her head against the window pane. Her eyelashes cast deep shadows over her eyes as they flicker closed.

"Aw," Lissa giggles.

The car trip draws on into the night.

The street darkens.

Frederick narrows his eyes as the streetlights around them flick off. The headlights are the only source of light in the immediate area. The crowds have dispersed, and there is only silence.

Silence and darkness flood in.

"What's going on?" Lissa asks.

"Power failure?" Frederick suggests, though the look of concentration on his face says otherwise.

"Something feels wrong," Chrom mutters under his breath.

Muffled voices echo through the area. Rolling down his window and inspecting the area outside, Chrom realises they are not only voice, but shouts and yelps coming from a nearby plaza.

"Frederick, stop the car," Chrom orders.

"Sir?"

"I think someone's getting mugged. Either that or something's definitely going on over there."

Frederick pulls the car over to the curb.

"Should we go investigate?" he asks.

Chrom nods.

"You've got your gun on you?"

Frederick shakes his head.

"Then I'll guess if we have to fight, we'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

Chrom opens his door, unbuckles his seatbelt, and swings his legs over the side of the car.

"Lissa, stay here and mind Robin. Frederick and I will be back soon," he urges, gesturing to her with a firm hand.

Lissa shakes her head. "What's going on? I wanna come too."

"Lissa," Chrom says sternly.

"I'm a Shepherd, too. I know how to take care of myself. I want to investigate." She pulls the handle and the door swings open. Holding eye contact with her brother, she stays diligent.

Chrom heaves a sigh, but musters a small smile.

"All right. Frederick, lock the doors. I don't want our friend to get hurt while we're away," he instructs, flicking a brief look Robin's way.

Frederick nods, and when all three are out of the car, he locks the doors.

The three huddle together, looking into the blackness surrounding the entrance to the plaza. Through the darkness, a series of voices ring out violently.

Without wasting another moment, they run off into the night, consumed by the lightless avenue. Frederick keeps close to his charges, feeling for the baton dangling from his side. Violence is not necessarily a thing he keeps in high regard, but in his line of work it is something of a commonplace, and sometimes necessary, concept.

He makes sure he is always in the lead. Even when Chrom speeds up a little to meet his pace, Frederick bars him from advancing any further.

Each strike aimed at Chrom would have to pass through Frederick first.

They enter the unlit plaza. Even the windows of the surrounding apartments and terraces are ominously dark. Curtains have been drawn tightly.

Frederick knows these types of crimes well; whenever there is some sort of violent outbreak, people looking on them tend to separate themselves to keep out of harm's way. It is the human thing to do.

However, Chrom is not any human- he is an extraordinary one, with a strong need for justice. Frederick has learnt this the hard way, while trying to protect him from the very harm he sought to stifle.

At the far side of the plaza, though, all three can clearly make out the huddled forms of a group of people, all with their backs turned.

They are shouting, almost in sync, some sort of fast-paced gibberish.

"Hey!" Chrom hollers. "What're you doing over there?"

The group of men turn.

All are dressed in dark purples and maroons; low cut T-Shirts with chains hanging off their trousers. Some wear long, loose coats with rolled up sleeves, revealing purplish tattoos of dragons not even horror movies could conjure.

"Wuzzat? We're in the middle of something!" their leader steps forward, balancing a baseball bat on his shoulder. "You need somethin'?"

Frederick leads Chrom and Lissa into the plaza's centre. The group of men are in full view. They seem to be hiding something. Or someone.

"Mr. Chrom!? That you!? Hey, it's me! Sully!"

"Officer?" Frederick frowns. "Officer Sully? Where are you?"

One of the thugs takes a boot to the back, crashing down face-first onto the cobblestone. With him down, a young woman with short, choppy red hair can be seen. Beside her, slumped on the ground, is a man. His face is covered with blood from a broken nose. Sully is standing before him, as if protecting him from the thuggish men.

The men swing baseball bats and throw punches her way, but she blocks and dodges do skilfully that Frederick can feel himself swelling with pride.

Chrom and Frederick launch into the action, leaving Lissa on the sidelines.

Each punch traded between the men is as brutal as the next.

Chrom takes blows to the gut but tries not to recoil. He ducks until fists and delivers right hooks to the chin.

Frederick is less swift, but his punches and baton strikes hold more weight, and soon he, Chrom and Sully have subdued the party.

Frederick and Sully take out handcuffs and read out memorised arrest rights methodically.

Chrom kneels down to talk to the leader, whose baseball bat has been split in half and whose bloodied face grinds into the stones.

"Who are you?" Chrom asks. He wipes his nose gingerly, checking for nonexistent blood.

The leader lets out a laugh.

"Ylissean scum!" he roars, and lifts his head only briefly to spit.

"They're Plegian, sir," says Sully. "They attacked Ruffles over there without warnin'. I was headin' home when I saw the action. Thought I should get involved."

"I knew I heard a familiar voice," Chrom stands and shakes Sully's hand. "Glad you're safe, Officer."

"No prob. They were nothin'. Specially not for you, Chief," Sully turns to Frederick. "You were a bona fide ass-kickin' machine, sir!"

Frederick nods. He resumes his usual stance, standing tall. "You did well yourself, Sully. Could you call for a bus? We'll take these men in to the station."

"Yes, sir. Gladly." When one of the Plegian bandits lying on the floor groans, Sully kicks him. "And they say we're scum. Imagine just pullin' some guy off the street and kickin' his ass for no reason. Now _that's_ what I call scum." She goes off to call in to the station, though her loud, gruff voice shows no sign of slowing down.

Chrom notices Lissa tending the wounded "Ruffles", who is sitting back against a restaurant blackboard.

He leaves Frederick to mind the Plegians and wanders over to them.

"Hey," he says.

"Why hello there, dear sir," says the wounded man. His light hair cascades around his shoulders in sharp strands, and as Sully had describes, he is dressed smartly in a blue-and-white ensemble with a ruffled cravat fastened tightly around his neck. "Now, I know I might seem inappropriate, but might I inquire as to the name of this lovely creature here? Or perhaps you could jot down the name of that stunning red bird whom played the part of my hero?" His voice carries a distinct foreign accent, but Chrom cannot place it.

"Uh…well…Mr…"

"Virion, at your service. I apologise, for a dashing man such as myself usually needs no introduction." He brushes Lissa off after blowing a kiss and heaves himself up. "Where was I, where was I…?" he mutters to himself. "Ah, yes! I was just about to head home to my darling hotel, when those brigands attacked me! How daring, I thought, that they might beat me in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd! But I looked around, and night had sunk its teeth into the street, which was empty! Lord save me, I thought, but then that cunning, starkly beautiful, graceful woman came to my rescue, stealing my heart in the process! I must speak to her!"

Lissa yanks him down, rolling her eyes.

"You're hurt, stupid, let me tend your wounds."

"Ah, but they are mere flesh wounds, my dear. A dashing man such as myself needs not let them faze him," Virion speaks as if reciting poetry, so passionate and articulate are each of his words.

"Mmhm… Right…Well, as long as you're okay," Chrom clears his throat. "How did Plegian bandits even cross the bridge? I thought we had provisions in place at the border…"

"This seems bad, Chrom," Lissa sighs, dabbing Virion's forehead with a tissue.

"I agree. I'm not familiar with the customs of Plegia, but if their children play beat-up-the-foreigner instead of hide-and-seek, I would be concerned," Virion chimes.

Both Chrom and Lissa ignore him.

_"Chrom!"_ Frederick yells.

Chrom turns immediately to see one of the arrested Plegians dashing for the exit. Frederick is on the ground, attempting to get up, but it appears as if he has sustained some sort of leg injury from the fight.

Sully notices only belatedly and shoots off after the escapee, the radio still in her hand.

"Come back here, asshole!" she bellows. Even at her astounding running speed, the criminal makes it to the exit.

Chrom makes to run after him, too, before he notices a figure at the exit alley, whose knee thrusts into the crotch of the escapee as he falls back to the ground.

Sully arrives to drag him back to the others.

"Thought you could get away, huh? God damn, what is it with crims these days and thinkin' they're Houdini?"

"Sully! You've got him?" Chrom asks, jogging up to meet her at the alley.

"Yep. All thanks to her."

The figure who had subdued the Plegian emerges from the shadows.

It is Robin, sleepy-eyed and looking confused. Her plastered arm is suspended in a shoulder sling.

"Is he okay?" she asks, bewildered. "I-I didn't mean to kick him, I just…saw him coming at me, and…"

Chrom releases a lengthy bout of laughter.

"Robin! It's you! That's quite a kick you gave him. Don't worry, he's the bad guy. You did well," he reaches over to tentatively pat the young woman on the shoulder, unwilling to hurt her.

Robin smiles. "I woke up and you were all gone. I thought perhaps everything had been a dream after all."

"This is no dream," Chrom says. His voice shifts from jolly to grave. "I'm afraid we've a problem with the neighbouring country, Plegia. They're connected to Ylisse via a long sea bridge, and lately they've been causing a great deal of grief over this side… Oh, but you shouldn't worry about that."

Robin tilts her head, furrowing her brow. "Sorry if I'm a little slow to pick up on things," she chuckles nervously.

"That's quite all right. Now, can I walk you back to the car? We have a nice, warm bed waiting for you."

Both smile. Robin peers around him at the group of men on the ground receiving long, cuss-filled lectures from Officer Sully, while Virion admires her openly, and Frederick and Lissa stand to the side.

"I sure missed a lot, didn't I?"

"Don't mind it. It's just that I have a problem with trying to set things right. Come on, let's get you back."

* * *

**Hey! I'd like to thank everyone who's read this fic so far, I'm grateful for the support.**

**I've been getting a few messages complaining about bold text, and I'm not sure what's happening but I'll certainly try to fix it (it shows up as normal text on my screen, and the "all-bold" text was not intentional, so I'm not exactly sure. Sorry!)**

**Anyway, this fic will primarily be Chrom x F!MU, with other inevitable pairings because of eventual kids.**

**If you have a pairing you really like, tell me in a review and I'll try to include it!**

**These are the ones I absolutely cannot part with, though:**

**Chrom x F!MU**

**Lissa x Vaike**

**Gaius x Sumia**

**Ricken x Maribelle**

**Other than that, I'm open to suggestions!**

**Thanks so much guys!**


	3. Chapter Two: Shepherds (Part One)

Chapter Two

Shepherds

(Part One)

* * *

Robin stirs from side to side, the creases in the bed sheets following the curvature of her spine. Her legs kick out, her arms bind her body. The bandages on her cheek are fraying at the edges, the cast coiling around her right arm creaks as she tenses and balls her hands into tight fists.

In her dreams, she is running.

One leg after the other, she bounds through a field of grey reeds. She looks back over her shoulder, only to find the red glow of fire chasing her through the darkness.

She looks ahead again, but finds a wall of swirling blackness barring her from proceeding.

Her heart is beating fast.

She looks over her shoulder again, but the torches and shouts have disappeared. Looking forward again, a hand extends itself out to her.

Should she take it? Should she run away?

While arguing with herself, the hand draws back and strikes her face.

Robin awakes, violently.

She jolts up into a sitting position, straining her cracked ribs. She yelps out in pain, clenching her side.

Her broken arm quivers and sweats in the cast.

The wounds on her cheek have reopened from her incessant tossing and turning, staining the bandages deep red.

She is shaking. She looks up, and finds a mirror on the opposite wall.

Staring at herself, she becomes very afraid.

Once her heartbeat has softened to a gentle, even palpitation, she scoots back to lean back against the headboard. She whimpers softly at the strain on her ribcage, then breathes out steadily.

The room she is in is nothing special, save for the elaborate etchings in the ceiling and skirting boards, reminiscent of a Greek palace. There is a bed in the middle of the room, which is painted almost entirely white, a mirror opposite it and a dresser beside it.

A closed window collects a summer breeze, which taps at the window pane, as if asking for entry.

The only door in the room is shut tightly.

Robin exhales slowly. Her forehead and neck are damp with sweat.

She looks down at the palm of her good hand.

"Robin," she whispers to herself. "That's my name, isn't it?" She takes that same hand and rubs her eyes with it. "Or is it all a dream?"

Robin gets out of bed, opens the door, and peers out to the hallway. It is empty and is suspended in a polite silence.

Closing the door again, she takes a moment-or a few more-to get changed into the clothes folded on the dresser. They are not hers, and are loose-fitting, but do well to hide the scars on her arms.

No matter what her memory says-or doesn't say, in her case- she is sure that they were not sustained from the accident. They are far too old-looking and stiflingly deep.

As she struggles to lift her shirt over her cast, she spots something purple on her back in the mirror.

She swallows, hard, then turns her back to the mirror and looks over her shoulder.

She sighs.

"Not the type of tattoo I would want, but…perhaps I was a different person…"

She ignores the ink, which scrawls across her back in a dark symbol, and pulls on the other blouse.

After that, she exits the room into the hallway and closes the door behind her.

She touches her cheek, which draws blood through the bindings.

"Where's the bathroom in this place?" she groans under her breath. She stifles her complaints by reminding herself of her gratitude to Chrom.

Truly, if she weren't here, where would she be? In the gutter again, where another car would surely do more damage?

Advancing down the corridor, Robin begins to hear soft, muffled voices. They are neither loud nor forceful like the ones from the night before, or in her dreams, but rather are hushed and polite and engaged in a light conversation.

She follows them closely.

She traces the walls, brushing her shoulder against age-old wallpaper.

At the end of the trail of voices, Robin finds a door hanging ajar, through which sunlight plays on the carpeted hall.

Robin swallows, sighs, and rubs her eyes. The harsh morning sunlight reminds her only more of her dreams, which continue to play and rewind in her head.

She steps closer to the door, peering through the crack.

"You say you ran into trouble last night?" a gentle, female voice asks. It is the most soothing voice Robin has ever heard, with an airy quality imitating the wind itself.

"That's right," Chrom replies. The sound of his voice resonates with Robin especially well. Even if new and still somewhat unfamiliar, it is a nice sound to hear.

Robin blushes-it dawns upon her that she may be eavesdropping. Still, she remains by the door.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Chrom chuckles. "Frederick and I arrived before the bandits could do any real damage. It appears they were trying to beat a man for information. Frederick and Sully also found explosives in their possession."

"Oh my…"

"They were Plegian thugs, it seems."

"They seem to be turning up more and more every day. I'm sorry I couldn't be more vigilant," the woman mutters.

"Don't blame yourself, Emm. Frederick called this morning to report his findings. After interviewing the group, he found out that they're not just ordinary brigands," Chrom's voice turns sharp.

"Oh?"

"It appears as though they weren't shy in admitting they were part of a larger organisation. They call themselves 'The Risen.' They're a denomination of Plegian rebels who…and this is where it get strange…believe a demon dragon will wreak havoc on Ylissean 'sinners'." Chrom pauses to clear his throat. "Moreover, they seem to be openly planning to lay waste to Ylisse as some form of-of _patriotism_."

"That's certainly a predicament…Plegia is increasingly becoming a problem, and at our doorstep, no less. What of the man they were beating? Why him?" the woman, despite his words, seems to keep calm. Her voice is unwaveringly peaceful.

"Ah, Virion. He's a foreign diplomat. It may be that he was deliberately targeted, because he wishes to join the effort against the Plegian uprising," Chrom explains. "He's a…colourful character, nonetheless."

"But he is safe?"

"Yeah, he's fine. I'm only worried that more will end up like him if we don't do something, and quickly. On that note, I'm sorry I had to cancel the meeting with the ambassador yesterday. I ran into some other trouble."

"Ah yes, I heard. Your new friend, wasn't it?"

"Robin. I hope you don't mind her staying here. I feel dreadful about the whole affair."

"It's fine, Chrom, put your mind at ease. Besides, I already tried contacting the ambassador, with no reply. Their king, too, won't return any of my inquiries."

Robin inches closer to the door, tilting her head somewhat to see through. She catches a glimpse of the mystery woman's angelic face before a hand captures her shoulder.

She gasps and turns, only to find Frederick, his brow pulled tightly over his narrowed eyes.

"What, might I ask, would you be doing?" he annunciates so clearly and so sharply that the words themselves bite and sting.

"I was…looking for the bathroom…"

The conversation within comes to an abrupt halt.

"Hm. You expect me to believe that? I should have known there was something odd about you," says Frederick.

The door opens, and Chrom stands in the doorway.

"Frederick? Robin? What's going on?" he inquires.

Frederick turns Robin around manually, his hand grasping her shoulder firmly.

"I came to report the rest of my investigation into the Plegian affair, and when I got here I found her eavesdropping, sir. I suspect she's a Plegian spy," he almost spits. His distaste is apparent.

"W-wait, hey, Chrom, he's got the wrong idea," Robin stammers. She looks up, only to meet the stern gaze of the police chief.

"Frederick, let her go. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this. Right?" Chrom smiles softly.

The woman inside's voice calls softly, "Chrom? What's going on out there?"

He pokes his head back inside. "Nothing, Emm."

"Nothing? Hold on, is that our visitor you're speaking to? Bring her in. I'd very much like to meet her."

Chrom turns back to face Robin and Frederick, a gentle beam gracing his lips. He nods. "Come on in. Both of you."

He pushes the door open and lets the two forward in awkwardly. Robin clears her throat nervously.

The woman sitting down at the long, wooden table in the centre of the room is indeed a graceful sight. Her blonde hair cascades in billowing tresses over her shoulders. Her long eyelashes cap slightly squinted and brilliantly vibrant eyes. Her slender fingers are folded neatly on the surface of the table. Her lips curl into a soft, almost nonexistent smile.

"Frederick, it's good to see you're safe," she says.

Frederick nods, then gives a shallow bow. "I'm glad I could keep Chrom and Lissa safe, Madam Sovereign."

"I'm glad, too, especially after yesterday's ordeal. I've been told you ran into the Grimleal cult," the angelic Sovereign murmurs, her tone turning almost grim yet still capturing that airy, tender quality.

"Yes, Ma'am. I've sent a unit to investigate some of the so-called _Risen_ hideouts. We've already recovered a good amount of explosives and firearms, not to mention idols of demonic worship."

Chrom pats Robin on the shoulder.

"Emm. Might I introduce Robin. Not only did I mow her down yesterday, but she actually helped in apprehending one of the culprits last night," Chrom laughs, alone. "Robin, this is my sister, Emmeryn, Sovereign of Ylisse."

"Sovereign…? Is that like…like a queen…?" Robin raises her hand to her mouth. She struggles out of Frederick's grasp to curtsy. "I'm terribly sorry for my manners, milady."

Emmeryn chuckles. "Don't be. Any friend of Chrom's is a friend of mine, and if you aided in protecting my people, then I trust you all the more. Frederick, please spare her your icy glare," she beams.

Frederick obeys immediately, his eyes tearing away from Robin, his gaze softening.

"Oh, no, I really didn't do anything. I kneed a man in the groin because I thought he was attacking me. Seriously, I don't deserve your thanks," Robin's jumbled words leave her dry mouth at a mile a minute. "It's I who should be thanking you, for allowing me to stay in your home. And for being so informal. I apologise, Madam Sovereign."

"Please, just Emmeryn is fine. I might be the Sovereign, but first and foremost I am Chrom and Lissa's sister, and they seem to have taken to you finely. If you have no home to return to, I'm happy to have you stay here for as long as you want," Emmeryn stands, her back straight and her green dress flowing perfectly around her, and quite humbly reaches over the table to shake Robin's hand.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Frederick and Chrom about some matters of the state. Perhaps you'd like to spend some time with Lissa? I hear she's put on a meeting for the Shepherds. Perhaps your groin-kicking expertise will be welcome there. I know I'd feel safer with more people on the taskforce, keeping our borders safe."

"Yes, ma'am. Anything to repay you and your family for the hospitality," Robin curtsies again.

Chrom chuckles. "Robin, it's me who has to repay you, remember? But I'm sure Lissa would enjoy the company. Why don't you go down to the courtyard? I'll fetch a maid to escort you."

"R-Right."

* * *

The courtyard of the Ylisstol Complex was a cobblestone clearing accessed via shaded exterior corridors and garden avenues. Rose beds adorned the yard in orderly, colourful lines, with gardeners shuffling back and forth, pulling out weeds and spraying fertiliser on pest-eaten bushes.

Robin followed the serving girl through the building down to it, inspecting every single corner and alcove in awe of its grandiose architecture.

"This place is beautiful," she noted beneath her breath.

The maid did not reply, but stepped out of the way when they arrived at the courtyard and bowed low.

Standing in the outside hallway, Robin spots the bumbling, bouncy figure of Lissa in a yellow-and-white dress, giggling and conversing loudly with a small party of other people.

She is arm-in-arm with another blonde woman, who in her other hand is shading herself with a frilly white parasol. There are bows in her hair, and she wears predominately pink, and the only thing that betrays her upper-class, frilly white appearance is the stern frown on her face.

In front of them is a beefy blonde man sitting on the edge of one of the garden beds and a young, fair woman standing rigidly to the side.

So these are the Shepherds, a ragtag bunch of youths barely out of their teens, who are meant to be the ones to expel the Plegians from Ylisse and prevent bombings.

Lissa's eyes draw over to the shoulders of the courtyard, and when they lock with Robin's, her smile widens and she waves in a broad arc above her head.

"Hey! Robin! Over here!" she hollers brightly. "Guys, she's the one I was talking about. _Hey!_ C'mon, don't be shy!"

Robin doesn't even attempt to protest as Lissa comes over and forcibly pulls her into the centre of the group.

"Guys, this is Robin. Chrom ran her over, she has amnesia, she packs a punch and we've invited her to stay at the complex for a bit. You know, the usual deal," Lissa sighs, as if it is the most banal explanation she had ever had to give.

"Robin, huh? Squirt's been talking up a storm about how you kicked a Plegian terrorist down to size. Nice job. The name's Vaike," he stands, catches Robin's hand in a violent grasp, and gives a toothy grin. He points to himself with his thumb. "But the guys around here call me Teach. It's a sign of respect or somethin', y'know."

"Nice to meet you, um, Teach," Robin offers a small, somewhat uncomfortable laugh.

Vaike disregards it.

"So where's Chrom, huh? Still recoverin' from battle wounds? Ha! What a weakling, am I right?"

"Yeah, where is the captain, anyway? I've- I mean we've been worried about him- I-I mean all of you since you left," the shy, fair girl stammers. She glances at Robin and smiles.

"That's Sumia," Lissa gestures to her, then lowers her voice to a whisper. "She's good with horses, if nothing else."

"I see."

"Chrom's fine, guys. He's just in a meeting with Emm and Frederick about the Risen or whatever."

"So, Robin, ya got any skills? To join the Shepherds, ya gotta be real good at somethin'. Like, I'm an expert with all sorts of weapons. Gimme a gun, a sword, an axe, and I'll cut those Plegian asses down to size!" Vaike roars, swinging his fists. "I'm teachin' Chrom how to handle a sword. Y'know, like old fashioned samurai and knight kinda swords. He took up fencing in high school, but I was always better than him."

"You certainly seem quite eager," Robin smiles at him. "I look forward to witnessing your…skills."

"You bet. 'Tswhy I joined the Shepherds. The Vaike wants to beat Chrom and protect Ylisse," he slumps down onto the cobblestones. "What can I say? I'm a simple guy."

"Ugh. Vaike, get up! Is this how you handle yourself in front of visitors? And don't encourage him, Robin. From what Lissa had told us, I would have thought you were a little less uncouth like our abhorrent barbarian over here," the blonde woman latching onto Lissa huffs.

She spins the parasol idly in her hand.

"And letting my Lissa tread off into danger-honestly, the lot of you are simply mad. I have an appointment to attend to, either way, and I won't miss it for this. Lissa, I'll see you later," she scoffs. She clicks her heels on the ground, then flicks around and leaves without another word. Everyone watches her go.

"Don't take it to heart," Sumia sighs. "Maribelle's a little tightly strung, but if you give her time, she's really a good person."

"I wouldn't try to fight with her, though," Lissa giggles. "Her words sure do pack a punch."

"So, what exactly _are_ the Shepherds, anyway?" Robin asks. She scratches idly at her arm cast.

"We're a Sovereign-sanctioned taskforce," Lissa says. "Chrom formed it to keep an eye on the borders when Plegia started to act up. Ever since the last war ended, it's been in bad condition, and terrorist and bandit activity have been up. We work with the police in order to secure the safety of the people. We're like, hm, how can I explain it? Y'know those special elite cop units you see on TV?"

Robin shakes her head.

"No? No, I guess not… But basically we're just your average joes looking to start a militia and stop a rebellion. You know, the usual stuff."

There is a loud bang in the distance, piercing and too close for comfort, like thunder clapping next to one's ear.

Vaike jumps to his feet, his head flicking back and forth, searching for an opponent. He takes Lissa by the wrist and acts as her shield.

"What wuzzat!?" he grunts.

"I-I dunno!" Lissa gasps.

The smell of fire wafts into Robin's nostrils. The burning sensation is frighteningly familiar, and for the briefest of moments she is transported back to her nightmares.

Dark smoke rises over the building, carried by the summer wind into the courtyard.

* * *

**Pairings locked in:**

**Henry x Olivia** (Not a huge fan of this one, but I know it's popular and those two are very cute.)

**Also, I'd like to note that even though this is a Modern AU, it will still contain themes such as religious cults and human sacrifice.**

**Plegia is an interesting place.**


End file.
